Dave was far beyond the legal limit by the party's two hour mark. He wasn’t unique in this regard; the rest of Mulvane Law School's graduating class sat at the other end of the bar, downing shots of Johnnie Walker and laughing at jokes no sober individual would enjoy. The other inhabitants of the Orland Tavern cast no judgmental gazes their way, save Dave’s own occasional glare. But he’d switch to a smile whenever one of them looked his way, doing his best to pretend he cared where any of them were going. 
	
After the next refill, he grabbed his Guinness and waddled over to a nearby high-table. A single man with a green shirt and black jeans sat there, staring at the graduates with a bored expression.
	
“I’m taking this seat,” Dave said, putting his drink on the table and flopping into one of the high-chairs. The man turned to see the interloper across from him, a certain annoyance overcoming his face as the stench of alcohol emanated more and more with each of Dave’s attempts to steady his wobbling chair. 

“I’m not with anyone else,” the man said in a tone just short of antagonistic. Dave sucked in the moisture hanging around his lips, evidence of the beer drops sticking to his handlebar mustache. 

“I know you,” Dave said, pointing at the man. “You’re a freshman. Came to our class one day.” 

The man nodded. “Nate Robson. Figured I’d say goodbye to some of the seniors. You one of them?”

“Yup. Only one graduating with honors. Better than any of those fuckers.” He motioned to the group at the bar, now cheering on a disheveled brunette (whose name Dave had forgotten three drinks ago) as she chugged a shot of tequila between feverish giggles. 

“Congrats,” Nate said. 

“David Nance,” Dave said, jabbing his thumb in the air. “Remember the name. You’ll see it next to Morgan and Morgan within the next five years.”

“Alright.” Nate took a sip of the short beer sitting in front of him.

Dave followed suit with another swig of his Guinness, then exhaled. “They say lawyering is the unhappiest job out there. Say they’re three times more likely to get a drug addiction than any other occupation.”

“Bummer,” Nate said, looking up at the rotating ceiling fan. 

Dave sighed. “Real bummer is that Tom’s not here.” 

“Who?” 

“Tom. My man, homeboy, whatever the fuck people call friends these days. He was supposed to come.” Dave looked around, as if Tom had already popped out now that someone mentioned his name. 

“What’s he look like? Maybe he’s hiding around here." For the first time in the conversation, Nate's words seemed eager. 

“Tall with glasses. Black hair, pale skin, always looks bored.” Dave stared into his still-filled glass, blowing raspberries at his reflection. Nate’s eyes wandered for a few moments, flowing from the bathrooms with bottle caps spelling out the genders and back to the graduates surrounded by empty glasses. 

“I don’t see him,” Nate said.

“Figures,” Dave said. “It’s the most polite way to say ‘fuck you’. An asshole to the end.”

Nate looked down at his glass of short beer. It was filled three-fourths the way up. 

“He was cool though,” Dave said. “A cool asshole. The one that farts in your face instead of shitting on it.”

Nate nodded, downing his beer in large gulps.

“He just had to come,” Dave said. A grimace filled his face, and the edges of his eyes shimmered. “One goddamn party. I didn’t give a fuck about graduation. That’s for sentimental fuckers. Parties are fun though. Perfect for an asshole like him. Anything he does, say he got drunk and all'd be forgiven. And I could tell him all the shit we could do. All the things-”

“Empty,” Nate said, slamming the glass down. “Time for a refill.”

“Sure,” Dave said. “Sure. Come back, though. You need to tell the others.”

“Tell them what?” Nate said, putting on his windbreaker and taking out his wallet. 

“To go solo. You can’t trust anybody around here. Not even the assholes.”

“Alright,” Nate said, walking off towards the cash register.

“Alright,” Dave said. “Alright.” He sat there, repeating the word like a prayer and staring up at the neon Miller sign glowing on the wall. 

“Yes,” he said, not seeing Nate snatch the receipt and hustle towards the door. “I hope it will be alright.”